


The Same Old Tricks In A Brand New Town

by torakowalski



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Kink, Semi-Public Sex, episode tag for an episode that hasn't aired yet, everything here is going to get jossed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil has a new office, a new team and no couch. Clint isn't sure how he feels about any of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Same Old Tricks In A Brand New Town

**Author's Note:**

  * For [17 pansies (17pansies)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/17pansies/gifts).



> Yes, I wrote a coda to the first episode of a show that doesn't exist yet. (Spoilers for the trailer and character names, basically.)
> 
> This is for 17pansies who told me to write her a C/C PWP in 500 words. I missed the target _a little_.
> 
> Thanks to sirona for her super-fast betaing skills.

“Hey,” Clint says, sliding around the door and leaning against the frame.

“Hi.” Phil looks surprised. “How did you get in here?” He’s wearing his glasses, which Clint only normally sees him do at home. He feels a quick stab of something like jealousy at the thought of Phil’s new team getting this version of Phil so easily when it took Clint years to earn.

“Please, sir,” Clint says, rolling his eyes. He might not technically be supposed to have access to this part of SHIELD HQ but rules like that have never stopped him getting to Phil before and they’re not going to start now.

Phil smiles, quick and way too knowing before he nods and leans back in his chair. He stretches his arms above his head, groaning when something in his back clicks. 

“I’ll be happy to get out of here tonight,” he says, finishing his stretch with a sigh.

Clint’s kind of distracted by the way Phil’s cuffs have slipped down to expose his wrists. He has narrow wrists with a smattering of dark hair along the bone and Clint thinks about them way more than he should.

“Yeah?” he manages, dragging his gaze back up.

Phil flashes him a quick smile and puts his hands back on his computer keyboard.

Clint doesn’t know where to put himself now – Phil has a new office, which is weird. Phil’s always had the same office, all the time that Clint’s known him – so he does what he always does when he feels awkward and brazens it out. It’s four steps from the door to the edge of Phil’s desk, and it only takes a second to lift some paperwork out of the way and plant his ass there before Phil can object.

“Barton,” Phil says, looking up at him with this expression on his face that’s halfway between annoyed and amused. Or maybe affectionate. Amused and affectionate look kind of the same on Phil; it’s always been confusing. “As my grandmother used to say: tables are for glasses not for asses.”

Clint grins, trying to decide whether a tiny version of Phil would have giggled or been shocked at that. “Your gramma used to say that?”

Phil shrugs. “Well, she said ‘butts’ but I always knew what she really meant.” He rolls away from his computer over to his desk drawer and back, a fresh stack of paperwork in his hand. “Are you going to sit there and watch me?”

“Yeah?” Clint says. “Unless I can help?”

Phil shakes his head. “New recruits,” he says darkly. “I really should have known better.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, kicking the edge of Phil’s chair lightly. “I heard you did your ‘surprise! I’m alive’ routine on some poor schmuck today.”

“Maybe,” Phil says, with a shrug. Clint isn’t fooled. Phil loves anything vaguely superhero-like. “There have to be some perks to dying.”

Clint doesn’t flinch. It’s been a year now, he’s way past flinching. “Did the guy piss his pants?” he asks, making himself grin conspiratorially.

Phil flicks Clint’s thigh, which means _I’m telling you behave but actually that was pretty funny_. “No, he took it well. He’s one of the ones I recruited.”

Clint shakes his head. “You and your strays,” he says. He waits to feel jealous about that too, but it doesn’t come.

Phil’s face does that maybe-affectionate thing again. “Are you going to be quiet and let me work?”

“Yep,” Clint lies. He swings his feet and watches Phil type. 

It takes a whole four minutes before Phil sighs, smacks him on the knee, and says, “No, you can’t sit there while I work.”

“Am I distracting?” Clint asks innocently. “Sorry, sir.”

Phil smacks him again, giving his hip a shove this time. “Go and sit somewhere else. I won’t be long.”

Clint thinks about protesting, but he knows that Phil wouldn’t be moving him if he wasn’t actually slowing him down, so he hops up and looks for somewhere else to go.

“Um, Phil. There’s no couch in your office.” There’s always been a couch in Phil’s office. Clint’s always known it as somewhere he could go, when he couldn’t go anywhere else.

“I requisitioned one,” Phil says. “Facilities told me to buy my own and bill them. Want to come shopping this weekend?”

“I guess,” Clint says, even though he secretly loves hitting Ikea with Phil; if Phil’s in a good mood, he’ll buy Clint meatballs and they’ll spend all afternoon exploring the showrooms and mocking every damn thing they come across.

That doesn’t help with where he’s going to sit now, though, so he settles for squatting down next to Phil’s chair, back against the solid front of Phil’s desk drawers.

“No,” Phil says, looking down at him.

Clint tips his head back and grins, fluttering his eyelashes. “Nowhere else for me to sit.”

Phil’s knee is six inches from Clint’s face, close enough that Clint can feel the warmth coming off him, the extra hint of heat from his thighs. Clint’s not sure why he’s ever sat anywhere else.

“Be good,” Phil warns him and goes back to typing.

Clint manages to be good for twenty minutes – which, considering how long he can stay still for, isn’t _actually_ all that good – before he gets bored of zoning out on the clack of Phil’s computer keys and the quiet way he talks to himself about what he’s writing.

“Hey,” Clint whispers, leaning his cheek against Phil’s kneecap, smiling at how familiar the drag of expensively tailored wool feels against his skin by now.

Phil drops a hand and rests his knuckles against Clint’s hairline. It’s exactly the same move that he makes when he tries to wake Clint up in the morning and he’s not ready.

“Hey,” Clint says again.

Phil’s knuckles roll across his forehead. “Working,” he says.

Clint opens his mouth against Phil’s knee. “You haven’t typed anything for three minutes. You’re proofreading.”

“Which is still working,” Phil says patiently.

“Which means you’re nearly done and could finish up in the morning.” He bites lightly, tasting something like the ashy remains of smoke on Phil’s pants. Was Phil in a fire today?

“I wouldn’t. You really don’t want to know where I’ve been,” Phil tells him. 

Clint hums. “Of course I do,” he says. 

He puts his hand on the opposite side of Phil’s chair, pulling him closer. Phil lets him do it, which confirms that he really is nearly done.

Clint shifts along with him, fitting himself between Phil’s legs, hands on his thighs.

“Seriously?” Phil asks, looking down at him.

Clint shrugs easily. “You could say no.” He runs his thumbs along the inseam of Phil’s pants, all the way up to the crotch. Phil’s balls are hot, ridiculously vulnerable with only two layers of fabric stretched tight over them. Clint puts his mouth there next, because Phil still hasn’t stopped him.

“I should definitely say no,” Phil agrees, fingers sliding through Clint’s hair. “I’m at work.”

“I’ve blown you at work a dozen times,” Clint reminds him. He knows why this is different though; this is Phil’s workplace but it’s not Clint’s. “Don’t you wanna christen your new digs.”

Phil’s pants have a button fly, which isn’t helpful for Clint who wanted to open it with his teeth. 

“You’re going to get me fired,” Phil sighs, sliding his hands into Clint’s hair. “Fury will kill me all over again, if he hears about this.”

“Eh.” Clint reluctantly leans back far enough to replace his mouth with his hands and quickly open Phil’s fly. “What can he do?”

“Make it so you need a level eight clearance to see me.” Phil makes a soft noise in his throat when Clint undoes his pants and pulls the waistband of his briefs down to sit below his balls.

“So I’ll get myself a level eight,” Clint says, like it’s easy, like he didn’t have to fight and threaten and beg to get Phil back last time.

“I know you would.” Phil shifts, resettling his underwear and palming his own cock. He’s half-hard, which is exactly how Clint likes him to be at the start of a blowjob.

Clint licks around the head, then licks over Phil’s fingers when he doesn’t move them out the way. 

Phil turns his hand over, tucking wet fingertips under Clint’s chin and guiding him closer. Clint opens his mouth obediently, curling his tongue around the length of Phil’s cock as Phil feeds it between his lips.

“Fuck,” Phil says softly, “Clint.”

Clint has a cock filling his mouth, brushing the back of his throat so he doesn’t say anything, just flicks his eyes up to Phil and watches him watch Clint. Clint would grin, if he could, but instead he sucks, getting Phil nice and wet and using his teeth to give Phil a little extra thrill.

“Careful,” Phil warns and, “Can I pull your hair?”

Clint doesn’t want to let up so he just hums and nods. Phil always wants to pull his hair and Clint always says yes, but still, Phil always checks.

“I should not be letting you do this,” Phil says, almost to himself, while Clint hollows his cheeks and bobs his mouth up and down around Phil’s dick. Phil’s dick is Clint’s absolute favourite thing to suck, which is lucky since it’s the only one he plans on sucking for the rest of their lives.

“Mmhmm,” Clint hums then laughs when Phil groans.

Phil groans again. “Shit, stop laughing, I’m trying not to – ” He cuts himself off, muscles suddenly going taut. He puts his hands on Clint’s head, moving him away. “Someone’s coming.”

Clint feels a spike of adrenaline, probably enough to get him up and half away across the room, put a respectable distance between them before the door opens, but he knows his mouth is swollen and his voice will be shot, so he scoots backwards instead. 

There isn’t a lot of room in the kickwell under Phil’s desk, but Clint’s flexible and he fits okay, even when Phil drags his chair in tight under there too, so his open pants and still hard cock is hidden from view.

Clint tucks his head against Phil’s thigh, breathing lightly on his cock, and waits. It doesn’t take long. Phil’s door opens seconds later and a woman’s voice says, “Agent Coulson, what are you still doing here?”

“Paperwork,” Phil says with a little verbal shrug in his tone. 

“Ugh,” she says. “Rather you than me.” Clint doesn’t recognise her voice, which makes him sad. He needs to learn about these new people who Phil’s working with now. 

To distract himself, he leans in and flicks the tip of his tongue against Phil’s cockhead.

Phil reflexively kicks him in the hip, but doesn’t make a sound.

“You should get on home,” Phil says, “there’s no need for us both to burn the midnight oil.”

He just sounds so _Coulson_ that Clint wants to laugh. Obviously he doesn’t, but he wants to. He loves the switch between Phil and Coulson and back again. He lifts his head slowly, catching the head of Phil’s cock again and sucks gently.

One of Phil’s hand drops down to casually rest on his thigh and, conveniently, scratches though Clint’s hair, tugging on a couple of strands but not warning him off.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m gone,” she says lightly. “You want me to send you up some dinner?”

Phil presses two fingers against back of Clint’s head and Clint grins, getting the message. He slowly, slowly takes Phil back down his throat, feeling how hard he is still.

If Phil has a secret exhibitionist kink, Clint knows nothing about it, but he doesn’t mind indulging it like this.

“I’m good, thank you,” Phil says politely. “I’ll be heading home soon, too.”

“To your husband?” she asks teasingly, and Clint’s so shocked he almost chokes on Phil’s dick.

“To my husband,” Phil agrees, like that’s nothing, like they go around telling everyone about each other all the time.

She laughs and there’s a tap-tap sound like she’s banging her knuckles on the top of the desk. “Have a good night, Coulson.”

“You too,” Phil says. His hand tightens in Clint’s hair, keeping him down. Clint sucks hard in retaliation and wonders if Phil could have an orgasm under the desk without letting anything suspicious show on his face.

Clint swirls his tongue in patterns over as much skin as he can reach, while he listens to her walk out the room, steps purposeful as they echo down the corridor.

“Well,” Phil says, releasing the word on a shaky breath.

“Shh,” Clint hisses around Phil’s cock. He braces his feet against the privacy board and folds an arm across Phil’s thighs, using his other hand to cup Phil’s balls.

“Look at you,” Phil says, voice breaking. “If she’d seen you, she’d have been so jealous.”

Fuck. Fuck, Clint just wants him to come now, needs to kiss him desperately.

“ _Clint_ ,” Phil groans. His fingernails scrape Clint’s scalp, hard enough to leave marks, and he lifts forward on his toes, straining toward Clint’s mouth.

Clint leans into him, keeping him down, marvelling at how Phil’s genuinely losing his composure right now. They so need to do this again.

He pulls off, licking circles around the head and looks up at Phil. “C’mon,” he says, “you don’t want to come in my mouth, do you, sir? You want to risk maybe getting some on your desk, maybe on your paperwork, somewhere anyone might see…”

“Stop talking,” Phil says and comes on Clint’s lips, his open mouth, his tongue.

Clint swallows a couple times and licks his lips, then scrambles up to his feet, managing to fit himself up on the chair with Phil, even though it involves mostly sitting on him, knees wedged under the arms.

“Fuck me, you’re getting kinkier,” he says, tugging Phil into kiss after kiss.

Phil leans into him, letting Clint take the weight of his head on his shoulder. Clint kisses his ear and his temple and the curve of his receding hairline. 

“Thank you,” Phil says, which makes Clint laugh.

“Genuinely no hardship,” he promises. He wants to make a quip about being hard, but for once doesn’t want to wreck the mood. He slides his arms around Phil and settles against him, waiting for Phil to get back with the programme. 

While he’s waiting, he carefully tucks Phil away and refastens his pants. Clint’s uncomfortably hard himself, grateful that he’d already changed into old, worn jeans with plenty of give when he decided that he missed Phil enough to gate-crash his first late night in his new job.

“God, we really shouldn’t have done that,” Phil says, sounding way more coherent now, but still sort of punchy. He laughs disbelievingly. “I’m never going to be able to look Agent May in the eye again.”

“Is that who that was?” Clint asks. He should probably move, but he’s comfortable. He twists the end of Phil’s tie around his fingers, watching the silver highlights shimmer in the light.

“Melinda May,” Phil agrees. “She’s one of mine.”

Clint’s decided to take it as personal growth that he can hear Phil say things like that without stomping his feet.

“Another new recruit?” he asks, offhand.

Phil shakes his head. He kisses Clint’s jaw when his mouth swings close enough. “No, she’s been with SHIELD for years. Natasha knows her. In fact, I’m surprised you don’t; she’s a damn good pilot.”

Clint shrugs. “Didn’t recognise her voice. She knows about me, though?” He’s so casual, he should get a fucking medal.

“She does,” Phil agrees. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.” So, so casual. “Just different.”

“Clint,” Phil sighs. He puts his hand on Clint’s chin, tipping his face up like he did earlier just before he gave Clint his cock. Clint is instantly even harder than before. “We talked about being more open when we decided to tell the Avengers, remember? I can’t, I won’t leave you to grieve alone again.”

Clint has to swallow hard all of a sudden. “I wasn’t alone,” he mumbles but he does understand Phil’s point. “I don’t mind. I mean, I liked it? Listening to you talk to someone about us was cool. I just don’t do good with change, you know that.”

Phil frowns. “Says the man currently on a team with a Norse god and a man who turns into a giant green monster.”

“Not that kind of change,” Clint huffs. “You and me changes.”

“Idiot,” Phil says affectionately. He kisses the corner of Clint’s mouth. “You and I are never going to change in any way you don’t want us to.” He slides his hand between the buttons of Clint’s shirt, pulling out the wedding band that he wears on a chain there for safekeeping. ”Besides, I think we’re done with the _big_ changes.”

“Well, unless you knock me up,” Clint quips, since he’s shit at sincerity. 

Phil bumps him on the chin with his own ring, which has got to be cheating. “Okay, now?” he asks. “Are you done freaking out? Can I get you off?”

Clint’s so hard that he can feel his pulse throbbing in his cock but he has a better plan. “Later,” he says. “I want you to fuck me, later, when you can get it up again.”

Phil laughs out a groan. “I’m an old man, Clint.”

“Bullshit and lies, sir,” Clint says, unwinding himself and sliding off Phil and off the chair. “Come on, Bruce is cooking.”

“I need to finish my report,” Phil says half-heartedly. 

Clint catches his hand and pulls. “Later.” He leans in and murmurs in Phil’s ear, even though no one’s around, “You can fuck me on our balcony and maybe you’ll get lucky and Tony or Thor’ll be flying past. You know how you like to have an audience, sir.”

Phil swats him on the ass. “You need to watch your mouth, Agent. That’s not at all suitable conversation for the workplace.”

Clint laughs, leaning into him while he powers down his workstation. “Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” he says and slides one hand into Phil’s back pocket, reaching out to turn off the overhead lights as they leave the office and head for home.

/End


End file.
